


Death Wish

by savant (teii)



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Corporate Afterlife, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:43:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teii/pseuds/savant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deadpool dies. And is really confused by the whole ordeal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death Wish

It's bright.

Deadpool squints, squeezing his eyes shut, but even then, he can see the blood behind his eyelids and he gives up, snapping his eyes open to find himself staring up at fluorescent lights.

Wait.

Wade pushes himself up, elbows knocking on the plastic seats that he's laying across. He finds himself what seems to be a doctor's waiting room, with the same, bright green, plastic seats ringing around the room, a sensible dark brown coffee table in the center, the walls stuccoed with a light-beige paint, a plastic plant in one corner, and a receptionist window adjacent to it.

There were no doors.

Wade looks down at his chest, prodding at the spot where a bullet hole was supposed to be. A lot of bullet holes, actually. It was an ambush after all, but after a few hard pokes, he still couldn't find any.

So he's fixed, most likely by his own healing factor though it's weird that his suit isn't stained. In this weird, other-plane doctor's office. He wonders if this was one of Dr. Strange's psychic clinics, but judging by the drab interior design without a single skull hanging on the walls, considers the theory moot.

He gets up, and makes his way towards the tinted glass booth, peering inside to find a young man, with mousy brown hair and sharp cheekbones and kinda fluttery eyelashes and-- wait.

"Petey?"

\--

Deadpool blinks. Blinks again. 

But Peter's still there, behind the glass, flipping through a _US Weekly_ splash page with Courtney Cox, Jennifer Aniston, and Lisa Kudrow while still in his uniform, sans mask.

Deadpool frowns, "am I back in 1996 or does this place not get subscriptions anymore?"

Peter looks up, finally, a (really not cute) scowl etched on his face as he glares at Deadpool before turning back to the article.

Deadpool knocks on the glass with his knuckles. "Spidey! Petey! PeteySpideyPete-- oh screw this."

Taking a few steps back, Deadpool pulls out one of the guns strapped to his legs and aims it at the corner of the receptionist booth and with a pull of the trigger, shatters the glass, making Peter wheel backwards to avoid the shards, covering his head with his hands. Deadpool hops through the shattered window into the booth, only to find it just as drab and just as doorless as the waiting room, with a few cardboard boxes lying here and there and a small pot of coffee still cheerfully percolating away.

"What is this place?"

"You couldn't have asked that without causing property damage?" Peter snaps, brushing the shards off his costume.

Deadpool shrugs, "I don't like being ignored, Petey, you know that."

Peter rolls his eyes. "I'm not 'Petey', dear."

Deadpool immediately trains his gun onto the doppleganger's forehead. "Then care to tell me why you're wearing his 90s, Mark Bagley get-up?"

"This is your Death Wish, honey," the Not-Peter sasses back, not at all perturbed at the gun digging into his head. "You wished for, and I quote, 'I wanna see Peter'."

"No, I didn't!" Wade protests. "Well, I _thought_ that, but I didn't wish for it. If I really wanted something, it would be like, a nice pair of bird-watching binoculars. That also double as a sniping scope. So I can bird-watch-shoot. I think I saw one in a Skymall magazine before."

"You did wish for it though. The last thought running through your mind before your brain is completely deprived of oxygen is filed by the admin as your 'death wish'."

Deadpool frowns, "but you're not Peter. Not really him."

"The only stipulation was that you 'see' him, so we found a composite picture of your 'Peter' that we had in our company's database and kind of made a hologram." Not-Peter shrugs. "Sorry. If you want, you could file a complaint with HQ."

"Yeah you might wanna," Deadpool waves a hand, "update your system. By like seventeen years or something. Just saying! It would be good to bring that up in your next weekly R+D meeting or something, for your...fairy death-mother wish granting corporation?"

"More or less. Do you mind me taking the hologram off? It's a little itchy."

"Uh, yeah, whatever floats your b-- WOAH, ok, oh god thank god I didn't try to instigate a make-out with you--"

The old woman currently standing in Not-Peter's place sneers, "Never grateful, are you? I was in this silly twink outfit for eight hours, but you just kept snoozing right on through--"

"You're like, what? A gatrillion and five? You look even older than Blind Al, and I just went to her gatrillion and fourth birthday-- god, there's wrinkles on your _wrinkles_ , do you just shove on a hologram for everyone death wishing to see someone?"

"I do a mean lapdance," the woman quips cryptically, and Wade snaps his mouth shut, goosebumps crawling down his spine.

"Am I trapped in here forever with you? Is this my personal hell?" He meekly asks, glancing around the room, already feeling claustrophobic.

The woman sighs, "I'm not sure, typically Death will be ready to see the clients after ten minutes once they pop in. Half an hour at the latest, but she never showed up. I'm supposed to get off of work in about ten minutes, too--"

"Death? I know her."

"Oh, well doesn't that make you special," the woman rolls her eyes, "why don't you just call her up and set up a lunch date?"

"She never gave me her number," Deadpool sighs, moodily kicking at the glass shards at his feet, "so that's it? I'm just suppposed to wait for her to show up and take me to the next plane?" A thought stops him. "I'm really dead, this time, right? 'Cause my schtick is that I _don't_ die because I'm kind of making a decent amount of money for Marvel right now and the one thing I don't want is to be the next Jean Grey so I hope if I actually _do die_ , it's not some sorta gimmicky, one-shot spin-off..."

The woman shoves a remote control into Deadpool's stomach, jabbing him hard. "I can't take it anymore, just watch it for yourself."

Deadpool frowns, but aims the control at the TV hanging in the corner of the waiting room, climbing out of the receptionist booth. The TV blips on, to which a CCTV of him is playing, lying on the sidewalk with blood seeping out of his chest and dribbling into a nearby drain.

"And this is...?"

"A security cam of the 7-11 across the street."

"Wow, you guys spared no expense, huh. Top of the line stuff."

"Be grateful you can even watch this," the woman says, leaning back in her chair, feet propped up on the desk.

"So what? This is eight hours after I died?"

"It's eight hours in here. That translates to eight minutes out there," the woman explains.

"So does that mean this video feed is going to be sixty times slower, or is there really nothing happening right now-- oh."

On the screen, a blur flashes through and Wade sees someone suddenly kneeling beside his real body, but he can't quite tell who it is.

"Zoom! Enhance! Magnify!" Deadpool yells at the tiny screen, but nothing happens and he's left helplessly watching as the stranger starts grabbing at him, smacking his maskless face and pressing an ear to his chest. Then it hits Wade like a sledgehammer.

"Petey! Aw. Wait. Aw, shit, aw fuck..." Deadpool groans, slapping a hand to his forehead, "Petey! I'm fine! I'm not dead! At least I'm not officially dead yet, so don't--"

Too late. Spider-man tears off his mask, and as if finally listening to him, the security camera zooms in, managing to get a closer look at the big, fat drops of tears streaking down Peter's face.

"Oh, no, Petey, don't cry, god you know how I hate it when you cry-- you look fucking terrible when you do, like a really deformed Cabbage Patch Kid that slightly melted-- oh god, oh god, Petey..." Wade whines.

"He can't hear you."

Deadpool only yells even louder, partly just to spite the woman.

"I'm gonna get out, Pete! I'm...I have no clue _how_ but you're going to scare children and small dogs with that smooshed spongecake face of yours, Petey, and I'm not paying for your stupid bail when you get arrested for disturbing the peace!"

It's only then that Death finally arrives.

Standing right behind Peter.

\--

Wade almost can't look.

But it's only _almost_ , so he stares as Death glides over behind Peter, her black cloak fanning out dramatically behind her. She pushes back her hood, and stoops down, her skeleton hand softly patting the grieving superhero's head. The hand disappears into the sleeve of her cloak and Wade tenses up. "Please, don't--"

And watches her plunge her hand into Peter's back--

and through his chest, down until the hand dips inside Wade's bloodied chest. Her other hand follows, also passing through Peter who's oblivious to the whole thing. Wade watches, confused, feeling his heart currently twinging as Death tickles his ribcage, pressing down around his lungs. A giggle escapes him, and he watches as she pulls her hands out of his chest on the tv screen, before pulling a thin red string coming out of his chest and pushing the end of it into Peter's chest. Suddenly, Death whips around to stare directly into the camera and the feed goes off, only to be replaced by the words: YOU OWE ME.

Wade's eyes widen.

Oh. _Oh._

He looks down, at the softly glowing light dancing on his chest, and a faint outline of string materializes in front of him, taut and stuck onto a wall, before a door suddenly forms around the string, as if it was always there. Wade looks back at the reception booth, with the woman glancing up from her magazine, giving him a short, curt nod.

"See you later, kid."

"Not for awhile, orangutan," Deadpool replies with a jaunty wave as he pulls open the door, and steps through, but not without hearing, "that doesn't even rhyme!" before being sucked back into the world of the living.

\--

"Wade?"

Deadpool squints, squeezing his eyes shut, but even then, he can see the blood behind his eyelids and he gives up, snapping his eyes open to find himself staring up at Peter's splotchy, puffy face.

_Ugh._

"I thought I told you never to cry," Deadpool grouses, annoyed and relieved all at the same time, "you're just not cut out for it."

Peter makes a noise in the back of his throat somewhere in between a sob and a laugh, and he pulls Wade to his chest, and Deadpool can feel Death's red string tighten around his heart as the distance between them shortens, a soothing, warm press of reassurance. "Where did you _go_?"

"I died. Then I saw you, but it wasn't actually you, so I said 'screw this' and came back."

Peter doesn't even bother to try and make sense of it. "Don't leave," he mumbles into Wade's shoulder.

Wade laughs, half-wondering how he could send an edible arrangement to Death, "No, not without you."

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys don't believe me on the whole "Peter looks terrible crying" thing, google 'Tobey Maguire Spider-man crying'. Just don't do it before you sleep.


End file.
